


Fire and the Flood

by BananaFana0883



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows (2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, mildly nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaFana0883/pseuds/BananaFana0883
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Raphael and Gwen again!  This is set about a month or so after the events of Here's Looking at You, Kid (still a WIP) and I wasn't sure if I should post it because it's out of order, but I like it and want to share it so whatevs.<br/>TW for drug use and angst.  Mildly NSFW.<br/>Fic was inspired by Vance Joy's Fire and the Flood, hence the title.<br/>I don't own Raph, but I do own Gwen.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Fire and the Flood

**Author's Note:**

> Raphael and Gwen again! This is set about a month or so after the events of Here's Looking at You, Kid (still a WIP) and I wasn't sure if I should post it because it's out of order, but I like it and want to share it so whatevs.  
> TW for drug use and angst. Mildly NSFW.  
> Fic was inspired by Vance Joy's Fire and the Flood, hence the title.  
> I don't own Raph, but I do own Gwen.

He could get used to this; waking up just before dawn under a mountain of thick blankets, one arm slung over Gwen's waist, her back pressed solidly against his front and his nose buried in her hair.  Her breathing was even and Raphael lifted his head off the pillow just enough to peer over her shoulder at her profile, to watch as her lips parted in a sleepy murmur.  In response, his own lips pulled into a wistful sort of smile and he snuggled in closer, his slack arm tightening around her waist and prompting a change in her breathing.

 

"Hey," he murmured, voice gravelly with sleep.  He nuzzled into the side of her neck, breathing in her scent where it was trapped in the warmth behind her ear.

 

"Mornin'," she mumbled in response, eyes still closed.  "You leaving me?"

 

"I should get home for trainin'," he said, but there was a distinct lack of resolve in his tone and his hand slid up to rest on one curved hip.  

 

Gwen made a noise of disappointment low in her throat, eyes fluttering open to focus on the window and the still-dark sky beyond.  "Are you sure?" she asked with a playful smile, pushing her ass more firmly against his hips.

 

Raphael answered with a growl and his hand tightened on her hip as his body readily responded.  It didn't take much; their relationship was still new and the physical aspects of it just as much so.  It was a whole new world for him, sex and a real relationship, and he'd been eager to experiment.  Luckily, Gwen had been a very good teacher so far, patient and just as eager as he was. 

 

She gave a contented sigh, reaching up to hook his arm and pull it around her.  His palm slid up her belly to cup a breast, bringing forth a soft hiss from between her lips.  "Easy," she said softly.  "They're full this morning."  

 

Her breast felt different in his hand, a bit firmer, and as if on cue, Raph felt a spot of warm wetness against his palm, the sensation oddly erotic.  He lifted his hand to stare at the drop of pearly whiteness clinging intrepidly to his skin, starkly contrasted against the green tint.  It trembled for a second before gravity claimed it, sending it slowly creeping toward the edge of his palm.

 

"Taste it," Gwen urged gently.  She'd tucked one arm up under her pillow and was watching him over her shoulder, brown eyes half-lidded and a small smile pulling at her lips.  She looked fuckin' beautiful.

 

"Ain't that weird?" he asked, thinking of the times he'd sucked on her nipples but never gotten so much as a drop.  He hadn't ever asked her about it; just assumed that it didn't work the same way as it did when Betsy nursed.  

 

Gwen arched an eyebrow at him, "Hey, it's not anyone's business what we do in the bedroom."  She smiled, "Besides, it's not weird.  Lots of guys are into it."

 

That was met with a beat of contemplative silence, then with a  _ here goes nothing _ grin, he licked the drop of milk from his hand.  "It's sweet," he reported, a hint of surprise in his voice.  

 

"Mhm," Gwen agreed, her free hand running over his bare hip.

 

He lifted a brow, "Ya tried it?"

 

"Yeah," she confirmed with a twitch of one shoulder that could almost be a shrug.  "I was curious too."  Painted fingernails trailed lightly over the scales on his hip, prompting him to press closer to her and making it clear just how happy he was to be there.  "I read online once that the taste changes depending on what you eat."  She smiled and tipped her head, baring her neck so he could continue to lavish it with attention.  "This morning's milk was those cookies I made last night."

 

Raphael smiled against her skin, teeth dragging lightly over the tattoos there, "Those were good."

 

"Mmm," she sighed, eyes drifting closed again as his wandering hand trailed down over her belly again, teasing along the junction of her leg and pelvis until she shifted her weight a bit and drew a knee up across the mattress to give him better access.  Thick fingers slipped between her folds, the touches feather-light and waking every nerve in her body.  God, he was a fast learner . . . 

 

While his hand continued its teasing, Raphael's kisses moved to the back of her shoulders, a low rumble vibrating through his chest.  "Feel good, baby?" he whispered, nose brushing the curve of her ear.  There was a change in her breathing then and she went still beneath him, eyes opening as she pushed his hand away from her.  "What--?" Raph started, levering himself up onto an elbow as Gwen shoved away from him, swinging tattooed legs over the side of the bed.

 

She sat with her back to him, eyes fixed on the light just beginning to creep through the window, but she didn't say a word and as the seconds ticked by, Raphael felt himself getting more and more confused, more on edge.  He didn't dare touch her, not after she'd pushed him away . . .

 

"Don't call me that," she said softly, the words barely more than a breath.  "Especially not when we're doing this."

 

His brows lowered in confusion - only to rise again in sudden understanding and the indignant anger that had been building in his chest fizzled to nothing.  He'd seen nothing but red that night, ten long years ago, but he could clearly remember the sound of Gwen's terrified sobs, her frantic screams, the way her voice cracked when she begged him not to leave her alone.  But somewhere deep behind  _ those  _ memories was the sound of a rasping male voice and the words that had greeted him when he'd reached the mouth of the culvert: _ Don't fight it, baby . . . _

 

"Oh," Raph breathed, the word slipping out without him meaning it.  "Oh, shit."  He scooted his considerable bulk across the bed but as he moved closer, Gwen rose to her feet and moved away.

 

"Not yet," she snapped, and his sharp eyes noticed the faint tremble in her hands as she rifled through the bedside table and came up with a battered pack of cigarettes.  She didn't smoke very often, about as much as he himself did - a commonality that Raph had found oddly amusing - and she never smoked when the kids were home, but she was slipping one between her lips now and touching the flame to the end.  Her ribs expanded on the inhale and he watched her savor that first hit in silence.  

 

She crossed the room and opened the window, letting in the late fall chill and absently waving the cigarette smoke toward the screen.  "Baby," she said, breaking the silence.  " _ Darling _ ."  She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, pulling her arms in close to her body to ward off the cold but it didn't stop the goosebumps from prickling her pale skin and Raph was sure that it wasn't  _ all  _ from the cold.

 

"I won't say it again," he assured her.

 

Gwen didn't answer, eyes focused on the cherry-red end of the cig.

 

"I saw yer father," he said suddenly, and immediately wished he could take the words back.  This wasn't the time.  What the fuck was he thinking?

 

Gwen's eyes snapped to him, confusion and hurt flickering across her features.  "What?"

 

He shook his head, running a hand across his eyes.  "Never mind.  I shouldn't've . . ."

 

"When did you see him?" she asked, the smoldering cigarette seemingly forgotten. Her eyes were intently fastened on his face as she silently willed him to explain.  

 

Raph gestured toward the cig and she edged closer, holding it out in silent offer.  "I was there the night that he . . ."

 

***

 

With the way that Splinter had been watching him, it was hard sneaking away.  He wished Leo hadn't said anything and Raph had punched him for opening his big mouth.  He didn't need help; he could handle this himself.  He just needed time . . .

 

It had been weeks since he'd last managed to sneak out but luck was on his side tonight and Raphael ran headlong through the sewer, his feet taking him along the familiar route without conscious thought.  Tonight she'd be there.  She had to be.  Why else would he have managed to sneak out?  It had to be fate or whatever.  She'd be back from Boston, having run away, and she'd be waiting for him.  He  _ knew  _ it.

 

He slowed to a cautious walk as he drew closer to the mouth of the culvert, sensitive ears picking up the sound of crying.  It was a guy, leaning back against the grate that covered the entrance to the huge pipe, a smouldering cigarette dangling limply from between two skinny fingers, like a tiny beacon in the night.  His hair was thinning and stuck out in white-blond tufts across his skull, bony shoulders shaking with every sob.  "I'm so sorry," he mumbled.  "I'm so sorry, baby girl, I'm so sorry . . ."

 

As first, Raph didn't understand.  He stood there, staring at the guy's back with his face screwed up in confusion as his adolescent brain struggled to put the pieces together.  

 

"I fucked it up.  I fucked everything up . . . I'm so sorry, Gwen . . ."

 

Raphael's breath caught painfully in his chest and tears welled in his eyes.   _ Gwen _ .  This wasn't some random homeless guy; no, there was only one person this could be . . .

 

Sobs had the man doubling over, the cigarette falling from his hand to lie forgotten in the dust.  Broken apologies tumbled from his mouth for what felt like ages and Raphael found himself unable to move, frozen in place by this strange kinship he felt for the man in front of him who could only been Gwen's father.

 

For a moment, Raph wondered if he should say something; if he should tell this man that he knew - and loved - his daughter and that he missed her with all his heart . . .

 

But then the man was straightening again, reaching into his pocket with shaking hands and bringing out a handful of  _ something _ .  Holding his breath, Raph chanced a step closer, peering past Gwen's dad's shoulder to see him readying a needle.  

 

Icy fear had the young turtle's eyes widening, tears spilling over as he - unbeknownst to the addict in front of him - watched in silence.  The needle was prepped, sleeve pushed up over a painfully thin forearm, belt tightened around a bicep . . .

 

***

 

He'd barely looked at her as he'd recounted the tale that, until that moment, he'd never shared with anyone.  It had been his secret; just another painful memory locked away in his heart to slowly eat him up over the years.  "I stayed there until his breathing stopped, and then his heart," Raphael finished, reaching out to pass the cigarette back.  It was their second, lit by the dying embers of the first and his eyes slid up as she took it.  He'd cried the entire walk back to the lair, had nightmares about it after, but he didn't say that.

 

Gwen was watching him, an unreadable expression on her face as the silence fell heavy between them.  Tears slid slowly down her cheeks and she absently rolled the filter of the cigarette between thumb and forefinger.  "He wasn't alone," she said softly.  Then her face and voice hardened, "My mother said that he died alone in a ditch.  Said he was a useless junkie and if he'd been a better father then I wouldn't have . . ."  She trailed off, angrily snuffing out the cigarette on the windowsill before turning back to him.  

 

She looked so vulnerable, so close to shattering, and Raphael found himself opening his arms in silent invitation.  She crossed the room in three strides, curling into his lap, and he was sure that she'd never felt as fragile in his arms as she did in that moment.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and those quiet tears turning to sobs as she fell to pieces, her face pressed into the curve of his neck, and all Raphael could do was hold her, smooth his hand up and down her back, and wait for the storm to pass.  

 

And, slowly, it did.  The tears stopped first, then the hiccups smoothed from her breathing and, finally, without moving, she whispered, "Thank you, Raphael.  Thank you for being with him."

 


End file.
